


Song of the Lonely

by Kay (sincere)



Category: Subarashiki Kono Sekai | The World Ends With You
Genre: Backstory, Gen, Headcanon, Origins, Pre-Canon, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-02
Updated: 2012-03-02
Packaged: 2017-11-01 00:04:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sincere/pseuds/Kay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everybody pays in Sanae Hanekoma's restaurant -- no matter how often they came in, seeking a little emotional connection, a little understanding, more than a bite to eat. Pre-game fic, contains spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Song of the Lonely

**Author's Note:**

> Written for thewewyexchange for LJ user "garbage". The request was, "Hmm...something Joshua centric? Maybe something to do with his death? [...] Or...you know. Something to do with Joshua's death *hit*." Technically canon to the Red Queen series.

Sanae wiped down the counter, the way he always did at this time of day, when customers were few and far between. But unexpectedly enough, the door chimed open. He glanced up with a light smile, a pleasant greeting on his lips before he saw the boy.

The boy was clad in a light yukata, its cool green color at odds with the sullen expression on his face. He had been in here before -- always at this time of day, precisely when the customers were most few and most far between.

"Ah, Kiryu-kun," he said, straightening, and the boy slid onto the stool across the counter. "Can I interest you in some tea?"

"I suppose," Yoshiya Kiryu said, plainly disinterested in the tea. He leaned forward, arms crossing lightly against the counter-top.

Sanae winked at him. "You know how much."

"You're still making me pay?" Yoshiya said irritably, but he was already reaching for the pouch tucked into his obi. "Isn't that taking advantage of my family's status?"

"Nope," Sanae said with cheerful aplomb. "Everybody pays."

No matter how often they came in here, seeking a little emotional connection, a little understanding, more than a bite to eat. Sanae watched the boy as he prepared the tea; he seemed disconsolate or angry. In this sort of mood, he would talk when he was inclined to talk.

Sure enough, in a minute Yoshiya was saying scornfully, "Tutors come to see me every day to try and teach me things I already know, and they say I'm _so lucky_ to be born the second son of a wealthy family, I'll probably wind up with some beautiful wife and never needing to work to make my living. Thrilling, I can't _wait_ to have a meaningless life of excess and boredom."

"I don't think that's what they mean," Sanae told him gently.

"Just because it isn't what they think they're saying doesn't mean it isn't what they mean," Yoshiya said with inescapable logic. "What is the _point_ , really? Everyone just mindlessly marches forward, doing whatever they're expected to do because that's what everyone else does."

Pity was an inappropriate response, but the boy just summoned up so much of it in him. Still, if there was one thing Sanae had grown good at in this stifling society, it was finding the way a strangled spirit expressed itself. "Not everyone," he said.

That was all he _had_ to say; immediately Yoshiya leaned forward, eyes alight. "Tell me again about this game," he commanded.

Sanae scratched the back of his neck and returned to cleaning off the counter. "The Reaper's Game is not to be taken lightly," he explained, voice dipping a notch lower. "It is a game that decides the fate of those who have died -- whether they return to life, or ascend to a higher existence, or lose themselves."

The boy let out a slow, wistful breath. "They have to fight for their lives, against those -- Noise, right?"

"The Noise don't attack them," Sanae said, amused. "Normally, they don't hurt people at all." Yoshiya scowled at him. Apparently this correction was unwelcome.

The door opened again, and they both looked up to see two men enter -- one in kimono, the other in a button-down shirt and jeans. They seemed exhausted and very wary, hard eyes turning back towards the street as they sought refuge. It was the Seventh Day, and they were being hunted: to them, the tea shop was a safe haven, a place to breathe before they returned to their final mission.

The boy watched them with a hawk's gaze as Sanae greeted them.

"A box of zaru soba for each of us," said the man in front, mopping at his forehead, damp with perspiration. "We are in a hurry, so..."

Sanae was the only shopkeeper who knew the full extent of what that meant, and so he quickly set down his towel and went to work. He could tell just from a cursory glance that the charms they clutched at desperately were low-rank, and not likely to do much damage to a capable Reaper. They'd need all the advantages they could get, and wasting their very limited time would definitely not help.

So he had turned his attention from Yoshiya, and was slightly startled when the soft voice spoke up.

"Your kimono is folded wrong."

"Eh, what?" said one of the men, jerking his head around to look at him.

The Kiryu boy leaned forward, hands tucked under his slim thighs. "Your kimono is folded wrong," he repeated, now sounding almost solicitous. "It's folded right over left. You're supposed to fold it left over right. Right over left is how you bury the dead." He smiled, a sweet and unassuming expression. "You're not _dead_ , are you?"

He was a terrible tease, and Sanae managed to avoid grinning _too_ much as both men jumped and exchanged uneasy looks. The man in western clothes said gruffly, "Don't say such ill-omened things. It was -- a mistake."

"A very odd mistake," Yoshiya murmured, but under his breath so that only Sanae could hear, and then his attention was on the shopkeep and not the two men.

When the two men had their soba and yen had been exchanged and everyone had bowed and murmured appreciatively the correct number of times, they hurried back outside and took off at a quick clip back down the street towards the Meiji Shrine.

"See, now that," the Kiryu boy said avidly, "that's what I want. If anyone in _my_ world says that he's in a hurry, it's because he might not be _on time_ for some meeting with his... his business partner. When they got together they'd do nothing but talk about tiresome economic math. The things they teach me in school, as if I can't do simple math without their tutelage. But _those_ men."

"They'll be eliminated if they don't make it," Sanae agreed, returning to his cleaning.

Yoshiya exhaled slowly, as if that were the grandest thing he could think of. "If only I could die," he said bitterly.

Sanae's gaze flicked up to his face, and he said calmly, "You won't achieve anything, thinking that way. Your entry fee is the thing that's most important to you, so--"

With a rude sound, the boy tossed his hair back over his shoulder and said, "Just because I want it doesn't mean it's the most important thing to me." He looked down at his hands, folding them in one finger at a time to curl into fists on the counter-top. "There is -- one thing. The idea of losing it is so terrible I'd almost rather live this terrible life."

The taller man shook his head, although he was mildly surprised at the implication that the boy already knew: it was very rarely something that a living human had ever thought about, or could identify. "You're missing the point, Kiryu-kun. The thing you value most is mutable -- it changes depending on what you've done, and what you want. If you killed yourself, for example, in order to get into the Game, clearly the thing most important to you would be getting into the Game, and so they couldn't let you in."

Sanae gave himself a pat on the back as Yoshiya considered that, eyes narrowed. It was not only true, but had cleverly sliced through to the idea forming at the back of the boy's quick mind.

"You may be right," Yoshiya finally relented. "He must be very good, whoever is in charge, to make that distinction."

"He's called the Composer," Sanae said, because he knew the boy liked this part of the story too, and sure enough, his pale eyes lit up again. "Someone whose Imagination is so strong that he can command all of Shibuya. The Game turns on his power, and his will alone can return the dead to life. He oversees the refinement and recycling of every soul in Shibuya."

Yoshiya said wistfully, "And he gets to be part of the game all the time." His gaze fixed on Sanae thoughtfully. "How did he get to be the Composer?"

Sanae's lips quirked up. It was a new question, but probably would also please the boy, knowing his tastes. "Killed his predecessor. It's the most common way to get a new Composer."

"Anyone who can kill the Composer replaces him?" the boy said sharply. "He didn't even have to be a Reaper first?"

"I didn't say he wasn't a Reaper first," Sanae said, to avoid confirming Yoshiya's new idea. He put down the utensils he was washing, and murmured, gentle, "Don't be in such a rush to die, Joshua. You'll get your turn in the game. I know it. A soul like yours doesn't just slip through the cracks."

The boy hovered a moment, and then sighed, deflating. He leaned forward and put his head down on the counter. "I just hate this life _so much_."

Sanae reached out and touched the boy's hair, reassuring. "I know. But if you can just let go of the idea that no one else ever feels the way you do... You could reach out to other people. And I think you'd find that some things in this life _can_ make you happy."

He wished he could believe it, but the boy's will was strong, his Imagination a palpable force that drew him here under Sanae's intangible wings. Even now it swirled chaotically around him, making Sanae's skin feel raw where he touched the boy, urging him to back off -- to not stand in the way.

Yoshiya wanted something, and even though it might not be the most important thing to him, his Imagination responded to his longing. And Imagination could bend reality itself, whether you were aware of it or not.

Two weeks later, the boy's death was in all the newspapers. _A terrible accident befell the prestigious Kiryu family's second son..._ they said in thick blocks of formality. Somewhere in there was the explanation of a construction incident, a beam falling from one of the new skyscrapers being built all around Shibuya.

"He was a frequent customer of your store, wasn't he?" said someone. "Tragic story, really tragic. He was so young. I'm certain his parents are devastated."

Sanae didn't stop washing dishes. "Actually," he said philosophically, "I guess it's just as well what happened."

It would be over fifty years before he saw another soul like the Kiryu boy; aswirl with powerful Imagination, unhappy and turning away from everyone, wrapped up only in his own desires, so very similar to the Kiryu boy that even Yoshiya himself could see it. But to this soul, Sanae will be more than just a fleeting emotional connection, someone to passively hear his wishes and ideas; Sanae will be able to reach him, and change him.

And through him, maybe just a little, change the bitter boy that guided his footsteps, and all of Shibuya, to destruction.


End file.
